Picking Flowers
by Willow-Bane
Summary: Pitch tries to be a bit more romantic toward Jack.
1. Picking Flowers

Disclaimer – I do not own _Rise of the Guardians_

*Rated K+ (Unless Otherwise Noted)

* * *

**Summary: **Pitch tries to be a bit more romantic toward Jack.

* * *

**Picking Flowers**

"This is so stupid," Pitch mumbled under his breath. He was currently on his hands and knees, searching through the flora in the woods of Burgess. "What on earth am I supposed to be looking for?"

Picking flowers! Whose stupid idea was this, anyway? Oh, yeah. That's right. It was his. When Pitch discovered that Jack despised extravagant gifts and preferred the more _thoughtful_ kind, he'd opted to pick flowers for the winter spirit.

But there was only one little problem with that. He didn't know what he was looking for!

Pitch growled as he eyed a green…something.

"That's a weed," Bunny said from behind him, startling the dark spirit.

"But it has a flower," Pitch argued. "And where did you come from?"

Bunny's eye twitched. How dare he disgrace the plants of the world in such a way! "Just because it has a flower doesn't mean it's not a weed," he grumbled before wandering off.

Pitch watched as the spirit of spring romped away, arguing about plant life to himself. His eyes glanced over the land once more. He sighed. This was going to take forever.

* * *

"Yes!" Pitch proclaimed, holding up his—questionable—bouquet like a trophy. "Finally, finally I can show Jack—what are you looking at?" he screamed at the children who'd stopped playing to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the Nightmare King. Well, at least children could see him now.

The kids just shrugged their shoulders as they recovered themselves and went back to playing.

Glaring daggers at the children, Pitch made his way back to the lair so that he could find Jack, only to be intercepted by a Nightmare.

"What do you want?" Pitch groaned as he shoved his bouquet into the confines of his robe coat. He couldn't have his Nightmares seeing him all sappy and whatnot.

The Nightmare neighed, letting him know that it and the others would be off soon spreading nightmares to children.

Pitch just nodded and nearly ran past it.

* * *

"It's about time," Pitch muttered breathlessly. It took him fifteen minutes—fifteen minutes—to get to his bedroom. Nightmares just kept popping up out of nowhere telling him they were heading out for the night. What the heck were they? Ninjas?

Making for his bedroom door, he opened it and peeked inside. "Jack?"

"Yeah, Pitch?" Jack answered. He stepped out of the bathroom in the fresh clothes the Nightmare King had provided him with, toweling his hair dry. "I just finished taking a shower. It was so nice. Go ahead and clean up before dinner."

"Um," Pitch began, "here."

Jack almost sprang back when he felt something thrust into his hands from his lover's robe. He looked at the bundle in his hands and felt tears spring to his eyes when he realized what it was.

Oh, no! Was Jack crying? His gift wasn't that bad, was it? Pitch started growing anxious. "Jack, I can expl—!"

"They're beautiful!" Jack exclaimed, interrupting him. "Thank you, Pitch." He leaned up and placed a light kiss on Pitch's lips. "I'll be right back. I'm going to put these in a vase."

Pitch just stood there in shock. He'd just given Jack a crumpled bouquet that looked half dead and he loved it? If he'd known that these little, sappy things made Jack happy, he'd have done them a lot sooner.

_I wonder if he'd like it if I wrote him a poem or something_, Pitch thought to himself, a serious look crossing his features.

Jack noticed. It looked like Pitch was learning; he was finally grasping the art of romance.

* * *

**End**

**Author's Note – I was in the mood for something sappy.**


	2. A Little Poetry

Disclaimer – I do not own _Rise of the Guardians_

*Rated M for Mature (Unless Otherwise Noted)

* * *

**Author's Note: **So I decided to add a poetry chapter since it seemed like a good idea after Pitch picked flowers for Jack.

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**A Little Poetry **

Jack was furious as he walked into the workshop at the North Pole, a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. How could Pitch be so—so—so—GAAH!

"Are you okay, Jack? Your face is all red. Are you getting sick?" asked a concerned North, who was currently managing the yetis.

North's only answer was a piece of paper being thrust into his face as a raging Jack shook it in front of him. He took it carefully. "What is it, Jack?"

"It's from Pitch! Read it!" he demanded angrily.

"Okay," said North and he started to read the paper he held. His face grew paler and paler the more he read. He cleared his throat after he was finished. "Are…you sure he wrote this?"

"Am I sure? AM I SURE? Of course I'm sure! Can you believe the nerve of him?"

"Well, it's not that bad," North replied meekly, trying to calm down the winter spirit.

"NOT THAT BAD? Did you even read it?"

"I read it!" North answered quickly, his cheeks getting red.

Jack was about ready to pull his hair out. All he'd asked was for Pitch to do something thoughtful. Like walking in the park, strolling along the beach, stargazing, writing poetry—that's where everything had gone wrong. He wished he'd never even mentioned the idea to his lover.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Taking the poem away from North, he read it over to see if he'd overreacted.

* * *

_Some may say that our love_

_Is as unreasonable as_

_Making out in public._

_Between us, however,_

_It's as thriving as_

_Our overactive libidos._

_You either come hard_

_Or just scream in completion._

_Romance can be difficult_

_When both of us are_

_Ravenous for physical pleasure._

_Sad though it may be_

_Fucking you does appear_

_More satisfying._

_It's not fact; it's truth._

_Sometimes._

_Thrusting into you_

_Over and over_

_Hasn't helped me_

_Find a solution for_

_Why I love you._

_I do, Jack._

_I can say one thing:_

_You are hot._

_I can only go so far_

_Before I rip off your clothes_

_Toss you onto the bed_

_And nip and suck every inch of you._

_And when I'm done there,_

_You find yourself wallowing,_

_Trapped beneath me_

_And my gratifying fingers._

_Nevertheless,_

_Every so often,_

_You push yourself down on me._

_Impaling yourself through the _

_Entrance of our pleasure._

_There is nothing more erotic._

_Whether you choose to_

_Buck or not is your decision alone._

_But if you do,_

_I pant, you moan_

_You whimper, I groan._

_Taking you over and over._

_And when you reach your climax,_

_You scream my name._

_You come all over us_

_And that is most precious to me._

_I collapse._

_We breathe hard_

_As we should._

_Love, romance,_

_Even making love,_

_Is a part of our whole._

_I'm waiting for you always_

_So I can love you once more._

* * *

No. It was still vulgar. Jack didn't even know Pitch could write something like this! What on earth was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all? Did someone slip something into his drink or what?

The sound of the door opening behind him drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see who it was…and gaped.

Pitch stood before him with a devilish smirk on his face. "I take it you got my poem?" he inquired.

Jack gaped like a fish for a few minutes before he responded. "Yes! How could you write something like that?" Jack demanded.

"But Jack, it's all true," Pitch claimed with mock innocence. He knew he was teasing the winter spirit badly, if his reddening face was any indication.

"Pitch!"

"Jack—!"

"Forget what I said about writing me poetry!" Jack screamed, growing quite hysterical. "I never want you to write poetry again, especially for me!"

Pitch smirked. He didn't think his poem would get the winter spirit _this_ riled up. Perhaps he could use it to his advantage. "I'm sorry, Jack. Would you like me to have dinner with me as an apology?"

Jack calmed immediately at the thought. Well, having dinner was safe. "Okay. But no more poetry," he warned.

"As you wish."

"What are we doing for dinner anyway?" Jack asked cutely.

"We're going to have a nice, romantic picnic near your pond in Burgess." Jack beamed with enthusiasm. "That way I can serenade you with some love songs I've written for you. Don't worry, Jack. They're nothing _too_ graphic," Pitch replied with a flirtatious wink.

Jack gasped. "No!" he screamed as he tried to run away. Pitch caught him, lifted him up, and threw him over his shoulder. Jack struggled to get free. "Put me down!"

"Bye, North," said Pitch. "We'll see you again some other time."

North watched as Jack and Pitch left the shop in a swirl of shadows. Well, that was weird. "I wonder if he was serious about love songs," he mumbled aloud.

* * *

**Author's Note – Did everyone enjoy Pitch's pervy poem?**


End file.
